[Written Aug 6, 1PM.  Pictures here.]

A couple of miles out of Star Lake, we came across a trail leading to Freel Peak.  We'd debated whether to attempt to summit it all morning and having a marked trail made our minds up - we'd climb it!  At 10,880 feet, Freel is the highest peak around the Tahoe Basin, and promised views of the whole of Lake Tahoe, the Carson Valley, and valleys and ranges southward.  We cached our packs and set off.

The trail was varied and fascinating.  We switchbacked through a lodgepole forest with maximum height of about five feet.  We tiptoed along the top of chutes with snowfields and scree sweeping down into a rocky bowl.  We inched across a gravelly saddle with tiny alpine flowers and mosses clinging to the lee side of lichen-blotched rocks.  At last we scrambled up the rock pile that constitutes the official summit to be pestered by a well-trained chipmunk.  The view was not disappointing!  Perhaps the next challenge is to identify each 10,000 foot plus peak surrounding Tahoe and climb them - both Freel and Relay peaks were spectacular.

Around 11AM, the breeze suddenly freshened, and Freel began once again to spin off clouds.  We began the long descent to Armstrong Pass.  The descent was characteristic of this section - a trail cut high into the side of a steep bowl.  Numerous creeks gurgle down the steep slope, surrounded by oases of delphinium, columbine, lupine, fireweed, horse parsley, and small alder trees.  Between streams, as we descended below 9000 feet, the profusion of wildflowers common to other sections resumes.

We've stopped for lunch at the base of Fountain Face, a cracked and rounded protursion of granite that rises a couple of hundred feed above the trail, reminidng me of the contours of Uluru.  Coy makes some abortive attempts to climb some of it, while I try to photographically enhance his progress.

[5PM]

Ahhh.  I'm stretched out on my sleeping pad, back against a half-submerged boulder, at the edge of Freel Meadowa.  The weather alternates every five minutes between warm sun, cool shade, and a few chill sprinkles.  The meadow is broad and boggy, and filled of course with copious wildflowers and with short stands of willow at the edges.

From the Face to here involved completing the descent to Armstrong Pass, several miles of steady uphill to gain back 600 feet we'd already shed, and then a couple more miles winding along a ridgetop, with classic views south into a valley surrounded by it's own clutch of rock peaks still sporting snowfields, and views northward from the rim of a rocky bowl called Hell Hole (not the Hell Hole Reservoir 20 miles away on the west side of Desolation Valley).  Beyond Hell Hole is another view of the Upper Truckee basin and the Lake.

The moisture of the meadow is bringing out mosquitoes for the first time in this stretch, but a few squirts of spray has abated their annoyance.  I'm grateful mosquitoes have been a non-issue for most of the trail so far!

We're resting in the sun for a half-hour to decide whether to push past our comfot level (which we had actually already passed somewhere in the previous 11 miles, or 2500 ft elevation gain) and to do the remaining five miles or camp here despite the mozzies, scrounge the dregs of our food supplies, and hike out in the morning.

[8:45PM]

Pulled my headlamp out for the last half mile, as we reached the car just as darkness was falling in earnest.  Changed shoes.  Ate pizza.  Home...

[Mileage: 16.4 | 122.2]

[Written Aug 5th, 8PM.  Pictures here.]

Today was full of wonders, maybe the perfect backpacking day yet!

This section, Kingsbury Grade to Big Meadow, encircles the southeast corner of the Lake.  My new friend Coy and I are doing it as "guy's day out".  We met at Big Meadow and did the car shuttle for an 11AM start at the Kingsbury end.  I am a bit embarrassed to say, but I made Coy walk with me the mile-plus of pavement up to the trailhead so I can keep my claim intact of walking all the way around Tahoe.

From the trailhead up under the Heavenly Valley ski lifts, we chatted amiably and the first five passed quickly, bringing me past the 100-mile mark!  Suddenly we were traversing a steep slope that dropped off 3000 feet to the Carson Valley floor.  Minden, Gardnerville, Carson City to the north, set among streams and hayfields colored purple in blotches as clouds rolled overhead, spawned by Freel Peak.

The dramatic Carson Valley views persisted up to a broad sandy saddle called Monument Pass.  As we emerged from the pass Freel Peak appeared, framed by whimsical boulder formations below and by emerging thunderclouds above.  Job's Sister, slightly lower than Freel but with a more dramatic face of cliffs and snowfields, also became visible.

As we approached these thunderheads, traversing the ridge on the Upper Truckee side, they began to throw a few large, sharply-cold drops our way.  The sky to the west was still clear blue and we surmised the sun-shiny shower wouldn't last the proverbial half-hour.  But it did, and turned into a gradual intermittent sprinkle through most of the afternoon.

Soon we entered a high saddle of old-growth juniper trees - not dramatically tall but with impressive girths.  They reminded me of baobab trees, or something from Myst.  We took shelter under one as we heard a rushing sound approaching and sat for a few minutes as the sprinkling intensified into a downpour - even a few hailstones.  Thunder rolled in slow crescendoes from the east.

We finished the last bit of trail to Star Lake, chose a tent spot not already occupied by a tent, and enjoyed a warm nap in the sun.  We could still see a few drops making rings in the water's otherwise still surface, but not really feel anything.

Cooling our feet in the chilly lake water felt good, and we established our kitchen on flat lake-side rocks with views both of the peaks to the southeast, and the setting sun to the west.  We dined elegantly on avocado stuffed with cherry tomatoes and imitation Crab, Morrocan Couscous with sun-dried cherry tomatoes, pine nuts and curry, and with an envelope of Palak Paneer over rice - leaving us both stuffed and mellow.

I write this under the last color of the setting sun - not overly dramatic as the clouds have by now almost all wandered off eastward, but with still waters disturbed only by jumping fish, and by the reflection of the almost-full moon rising large between the dual peaks of Job's Sister.

How else could such a perfect day end?

[Mileage: 10.5 | 105.8]

[Written Aug 3rd, 12:30PM.  Photos of this section here.]

"No pain, no gain," was my mantra this morning as I set off alone on the second, southern, half of my journey along the Tahoe Rim Trail. This section is listed variously at 12.2 or 13 miles, the shortest section of the trail and a moderate day hike. It also looked rather unexciting compared with the other sections, which seem to follow a pattern - five relatively plain miles in, mostly uphill, followed by several miles of gorgeous panoramas, and ending with five miles of relatively plain down hill. On a 20 mile hike that means 10 miles of more or less constant astonishment at the view, but on this section, perhaps that means only a mile or two of dramatic scenery. The more effort (not really pain) a section promises, the more rewarding it's likely to be.

This section began predictably, and while parts were interesting in terms of the ecological effect on forests of drought, bark beetle, salvage logging, and burning, I wouldn't call it beautiful. Fragments of the Lake were visible between snags and survivors.

By the last couple of hundred vertical feet of the 1600 foot climb, I was indeed feeling like I'd invested a significant effort, when I emerged suddenly on the reward.

An angular jumble of gray rocks, patched with lichen topped the ridge, surrounded by an open space of high country chapparal. The view stretches between the two high points surrounding the Lake, Freel Peak to the southeast corner, and Mount Rose at the north east. The lake appears long and narrow, stretching from South Shore to Incline Village. Desolation Wilderness is directly across, and I can see right up the mouth of Emerald Bay into the Rubicon Valley.

As I munch on jerky and crackers, I'm buzzed by large reddish-brown flies. A larger female is chase aggessively by a coturie of three males. While these flies are harmless, when four frenetically buzz your head it sounds like you've stuck your head in a hornet's nest.

I guess it's the time of year to think about new generations in the high country. Two chipmunks (I have a theory there is a chipmunk up here for every 10 trees) have chased each other acrobatically through the rock jumble for most of the time I've stopped.

[5:00 PM]

Mid-day, clouds started forming over Freel Peak and drifting northwards. I watched the peak scrape moisture from the sky and began to wonder whether a thunderstorm was in my immediate future - but the clouds began to slowly disperse as I eased along the long traverse down to Spooner Summit.

Contemplation of the hydrological cycle around Freel Peak turned into contemplation of my own micro-hydrological cycle. Water starts in a bottle in the backpack. Then I drink it. Then I sweat it out. The backpack absorbs the moisture until the fabric is drenched. So I haven't actually lightened my pack that much ;-).

Anyway, now I've finished this section and I changed my mind again - other than the half mile at the summit, this section was definitely more pain than gain. Tha last five miles were pretty tough going with lots of boulder "steps." Are the miles are starting to take their toll on me?  Near the end my big toes were getting tender so I switched to Tivas - ahhh!  I walked the paved neighborhood road out to Kingsbury Grade for a 14.1 mile total on the day. I think this section suffered from my solitude - good company would have been a distraction from the tedious parts. Yes, I'm blaming you, Al, for bailing out on me today :-)!

[Mileage: 14.1 | 95.3]

[Written Aug 1, 6AM]

The wind ceased overnight.  We can hear only the stirrings of our camp-mates.

After estimating that the next stretch of trail would take us 2-3 hours, putting us into a suitable campsite at about 7:30, we opted to stay put and selected a sheltered spot on the flatish end of the upper of the Twin lakes.  A perfect secluded spot, which we settled into with another delicious freezer bag meal of Cajun Chicken and Rice.  Topped off by a fresh avocado - what a luxury!

While we were eating, two trucks drove up the track (hey I thought we were in a wilderness) and stopped nearby.  A couple of guys approached, apologized for intruding, and explained that their group of about eight was with the California Conservation Corps, working on this stretch of trail, and their sponsor had instructed them to camp here.  We valued our spot more than solitude, so we stayed put as the group piled out and began to set up tents all around us.

After dinner we climbed a boulder pile to sit on warm rocks and watch the sun set, and we watched a couple of Japanese girls try to set up their tents, which kept blowing away in the wind.  It took one of them almost an hour.  Maybe this is their first night in the corps?

In any case, we certainly are grateful enough for the smooth and well-maintained trails to share "our" space.

We'll be up now and on our way quickly - we hope to finish this stretch today even though over 14 miles remain.

[11:30 AM]

Two miles of steady switchbacks bring us to a side trail labeled Sand Harbor Overlook (our map calls it Christopher’s Loop). We ditch our packs and grab a snack (it’s only 9AM but we didn’t have a real breakfast) and climb up to an area of sandy washes between huge boulder piles. To the southwest is Marlette Peak standing over Marlette Lake, and as we approach the western piles we look down (straight down it seems) to Sand Harbor State Park. We see into the water as if from an airplane, and see the warm tan sand fade into the depths in a gradient of Carribean colors. Today the air is almost perfectly still, and we can see wakeboarders and kayakers out for some early morning exercise.

Despite the futility of trying to photograph such an expansive scene I try a few shots and we speculate about how far it would be to kayak around the whole lake. 75 miles? 5 days @ 15 mpd? I’m going to have to do some planning…

The trail begins to change, becoming more Nevada-like although we’ve been in Nevada this whole section. Sagebrush becomes the dominant ground cover, replacing mule-ears and manzanitas. We pick our way cross-country through a gentle saddle with a rainbow of rocks and gravel – green, purple, orange, red – and then lichens on them from black to chartreuse. The saddle brings us to a rugged trail circling Marlette Peak on the lake side, and we again marvel a the constant panorama to our right.

We somehow blow right past Marlette Campground and stop for lunch a mile farther, as we realize we now must climb Snow Valley Peak, another 600 foot elevation gain over the next two miles. We dawdle a bit longer in the sun.

[2 PM]

Deanna performs the best Snicker’s commercial ever. She saved today’s bar for a reward after climbing Snow Valley Peak, which may not sound like a high mountain (the “Valley” kind of dilutes the “Peak”) but is over 9000 feet and the high point of this section.

Deanna began thinking about Snickers as we switchbacked (switched-back?) up through the forest and emerged into a series of high altitude glens, each one filled with a different ecosystem. One was purely lupine, another mixed sagebrush, paintbrush, and a succulent with profuse yellow blooms. Each glen is demarked by piles of rock and wind-twisted trees, framing the everpresent views of Tahoe and Marlette Lakes.

Crossing Snow Valley Peak seems like a significant milestone. From Barker pass till now, the Lake has been a presence, sometimes distant and elusive, sometimes immediate and dominating. But always to the south. Now that is chaning. The Lake is to the west and the views are as often to the north as to the south. The jagged peaks and lingering snowfields of Desolation Valley loom closer, less a distant possibility than a life-size map of our final, most difficult, section.

From here to Spooner Summit, the care, a day off, and all the Snicker’s you could dream of, is all downhill.

[Mileage: 14.8 | 81.2]

[Written: July 31, 3:30 PM. Photos here.]

Deanna and I are alone on this section, and after a dawn car shuffle and a pancake breakfast, we set out from the Mt. Rose campground and work our way down through a series of small meadows to the main Tahoe Meadow, from which the Tahoe Meadows to Spooner Summit section starts.  For those who are keeping score, that means I didn't skip the interval between the two trailheads ;-).

Being alone with Deanna for any extended period of time is a rare treat these days, and in an environment free from our normal concerns the miles pass quickly with rewarding conversation.  They also pass quickly because this stretch of trail is essentially level - along the ridge between Lake Tahoe and Washoe Valley.  The trail is used heavily by mountain bikers, but they're only allowed on even days and today we pass very few violaters, or other hikers for that matter.

The trail winds through a sparse forest scattered with huge rounded bouulders, and alternates between views of the Tahoe basin and Washoe Lake and the ranges stretching into the desert beyond.  It is a windy day, and we get chill blasts from the Tahoe side, but hot sun on the sheltered Washoe side.

As we wind smoothly among the pillowy boulders, we encounter more of the snags, stumps, and logs which I've begun thinking of as "wood formations."  Many of these relics show a growth pattern not just bowed and bent by snow and wind, but also twisted around their own axis.  As the grain weathers, the spiral growth pattern appears in geyser-spouts and perfect wave-curls.  These monumental skeletons are becoming one of the memorable features of this journey.

In mid-afternoon we reach Twin Lakes, two small grassy hollows part full of a green tea colored water, and strewn with weather-rounded boulders like partially melted marshmellows.  We've nested in between boulders at lakeside soaking up the perfect combination of hot high-altitude sun and cooling cats-paws of wind.  After our nap and foot check, we'll decide whether to camp here or press on up from our 7900' elevation to the high point of the trail of almost 9000', and then another five miles beyond that to the Marlette Campground.  We've already logged 10+ miles today, and with a cold night looming in a couple of hours, I'm not sure I'm too enthusiastic about leaving my cozy nook between the boulders.

[Mileage: 10.5 | 66.4]

[Written July 30, 8 PM]

The sun has set but the glow reflected from the clouds in the east provides a temporary second twilight.  I feel fed, showered, and exhaustedly mellow - the perfect mood for planning another section tomorrow.  A fitting end to another successful day.

Our day was relatively uneventful if you don't count the constant awe-inspiring panoramas.  A short climb brought us from Mud Lake to a long east-west ridge, with a few slightly higher bumps someone thought worthy of independent names - Rose Knob, Rose Knob Peak, Rifle Peak, Mount Baldy.  The ridge falls off precipitously to the south, dropping 3000 feet to the shores of the Lake.  We traversed this on trails carefully carved ino the scree slope.  The panoramic view is continuous for miles.

Occasionally a spur of volcanic aggregate thrusts out of the hillside, perfect spots for a photo-shoot, a rock-climb with ample handholds, or a lunch break.  Despite these distractions, we made great time compared with yesterday's painfully slow pace.  We plan to reach Martis Peak Lookout by 2PM for pickup by my sister-in-law.

During a break, we sometimes stray from the path, releasing pungent aromas from the wildflowers, a combination of mint and eucalyptus.  It reminds me of the scents we've imbibed throughout the high country, from the warm, vanilla-maple of jeffery pines to the dusty smell of sagebrush and dried pine needles.  I am even becoming attuned enough to the scents that I can distinguish the smells of shade and sun.  The scent of the trail is a constant backdrop for the whole expedition.

The trail descends through a series of switchbacks, to Martis Peak Lookout.  The girls sang and made up rhymes for the last two miles.  I leave them there (with my brother) and proceed solo, and packless, the last 4.4 miles to Brockway Summit to claim this section as complete.  Without pack and with another 1000 foot elevation loss, I fly along and cover this stretch in about an hour and a half.

Deanna is waiting to pick me up and we join the others at Tahoe Meadows campground for the night.  Tomorrow Deanna and I venture forth again, to conquer section 3 - Tahoe Meadows to Spooner Summit.  Laine will stay with Oma, and is looking forward to lots of biking.  She probably did two miles around the campground tonight - I guess the hike wasn't too long after all!

[Mileage: 10.9 | 55.9]

[Written July 30, 5:30AM]

[Aug 4th: photos added, see the whole set here]

The wind rushing through the treetops on the ridge sound like a distant freeway at capacity.  Every now and then a gust curls down from the rocky spines into the bowl of Mud Lake and flaps the sides of the tent - now getting a bit less taut after regular shakings all night.  Nevertheless, I slept solidly after yesterday's rather greuling stretch.

Section 2, Tahoe Meadows to Brockway Summit, includes the high point on the Rim Trail, and it's 18.9 mile length provides some of the most far-reaching views of the trail.  But that elevated perspective doesn't come without some cost.

I'm doing this section with my daughter, my brother, and his daughter.  To make this section possible for kids, we've broken it into three segments - Tahoe Meadows to Mud/Gray Lakes, then to Martis Peak Lookout, then to Brockway Summit.  By leaving Auburn early (7:30) after a couple-day break from the trail, we were able to scout out the Martis Peak access road, which turns out to be narrow and windey but nicely paved, getting within a quarter-mile of the rim trail.  Exiting here will allow us to skip the last 4.4 miles of the trail (except for yours truly who will solo it) and split the remaining trail into a manageable overnight.

The trail starts at the summit of the Mount Rose Highway, where there is a large, newly developed trailhead, at which we just managed to find a parking spot at 9:30 Saturday morning.  The first part of the trail was quite packed with people and their dogs.  By packed, I mean that you rarely were out of sight of another person.  The trail winds around the side of the Galena Creek basin, and at about 2.5 miles comes to a series of large meadows, fed amply by springs and streamlets, and featuring a cascading waterfall.  Despite the impossibility of having to falls to ourselves, it made a perfect spot for lunch.

Shortly after the falls, the trail forks, and many of the day hikers take the fork that leads to the top of Mt. Rose.  We started a moderate climb of about a mile, meeting up with the alternate TRT route (bikes allowed) at the base of a 1000 ft ascent to Relay Peak.  The remainder of the dayhikers turn back here to the trailhead, and after passing only a couple more adventurous souls, we had the trail to ourselves the rest of the day.  We didn't encounter anyone until the following afternoon - even the tracks across the remaining snowfields showed little evidence of passage within recent days.

The ascent to Relay Peak is along a broad road, providing access to a telecommunications relay station on a ridge.  Our progress was slow.  Laine developed a rather large blister on her instep which it took multiple attempts to dress securely and comfortably.  The elevation was taking its toll too, and we required frequent stops.  By the time we crested the ridge, it was obvious we were travelling well under a mile an hour, not a good pace for a hike of almost 9 miles.

The view from the ridge was unbelievable though.  We looked west across Truckee to Donner Lake and the mountains surrounding Donner Summit, north to see stretches of I-80 and the reservoirs of Prosser Creek, Boca, and Stampede, and southeast to the south end of Washoe Lake.  Row after row of the Sierra Nevada stretched out in a mountain-top vista.  Only Lake Tahoe was hidden by the end of the ridge, Relay Peak, still 200 feet above us though we were already at 10,100 ft.

At this altitude we could hear the whistles of gliders overhead (rides available from the Truckee Airport not far below us) and watch them wheel in the updrafts caused by the strong winds bouncing off the mountain tops.

Much improved from last week, the temperature is perfect in the sun, cool in the shade or when recieving a blast of wind off a precipice.  The few clouds assumed the lens shape indicating strong high altitude winds, and the more altitude we gained, the more we entered this windy relam.

Traversing the spine led us to the summit of Relay Peak, and at last we were presented by a view of the whole of Lake Tahoe.  A deep, almost pruple, blue, stretched out so steeply below us that perspective shifts and the Lake appears to tip upwards at it's mountain-ringed far end.

These views simply are too large to be captured by camera.  Even if one could, maybe they would need to be viewed in thin air to be appreciated.

With almost four miles remaining in the day, we made an effort to increase our pace on the switchbacks through boulder fields and wildflower meadows, winding along spires and traversing high bowls dropping into boulder fields and meadows far below.

We saw a marshy pond hundreds of feet below and mistook it to be Mud Lake, giving us both hope that our destination Gray Lake was near, and despair at the elevation loss (and tomorrow's gain) that it would take to reach it.  But as the junction to Gray Lake receded ever farther, and the light slanted into evening and the windy chill forced us into increasing layers of clothing, we at last spied another lake on our left not far below the trail - the real Mud Lake.  Soon we reached a junction promising to lead to Gray Lake, and we compared the half mile to an unseen destination to a tenth mile to a semi-sheltered bowl with obvious potential camp spots.  The decision wasn't too hard, and we skated cross-country down the rocky, sandy slope to our alternate destination for the night - Mud Lake.

Despite it's name and reputation, at this time of year Mud Lake's waters are clear, and the shoreline is muddy - but a damp DG kind of mud rather than a grassy, marshy organic kind, so approaching for water was easy.  There are no granite formations from which to dive into the lake, but with termperatures still dropping rapidly nobody was tempted to stick so much as a toe in the waters.  Instead we opted for a small campfire.  I'm not sure this is allowed within the Mt. Rose Wilderness area, but the barren landscape doesn't seem amenable to forest fires, and there are already several fire pits around the lake.

We ravenously scarfed our Ramen by the fire, flavored variously with alfredo sauce, pesto, a foil package of baby clames, and trail magic.  Ahhh!  A little more time to filter more water, erect tents and hang a bear bag, have a last cup of cocoa by the fire, and the twilight began to fail.  I read aloud to Laine a couple of chapters of her book, and we were both sound asleep shortly after nine.

I write this as the dawn rises, with noisy wind, postponing emerging from the warm(-ish) confines of our tent into the chill morning.

[Mileage: 8.8 | 45.0]

[Written July 26, 8AM]

I sit on a rock surrounded by paintbrush, columbine, and a small five-petalled flower of pure indigo - perhaps a type of penstemon?  The air is cool, the sky again a clear blue backdrop to the surrounding peaks.  I'm not yet really ready for a break, but have seen enough already this morning to want to journal a bit.

Deanna dropped me off at Barker Pass an hour ago for a solo attempt at this section.  Although I chose this section as one that was tractable as a day hike, and not so stunning as to require sharing, it is in fact an amazing and varied stretch of trail.  Unfortunately, my camera battery gave out this morning while I tried to capture a panorama of the lake and early sunrise.  I'm missing the camera desparately already!

The Barker Pass Trailhead is at the top end of Blackwood Canyon, and the trail first winds along the rim of the canyon, with steep dropoffs of hundreds of feet to the bouldery bottom.  Whole fields of wildflowers spread out across the hillside - my favorite was a long stretch of yellow mule-ears in full blossom laced through with spikes of purple lupine.

The trail then descends the canyon walls in steep traverses of scree and boulder fields, with snow-fed creeks every few hundred feet.  I even crossed my first snow field - though it was only about five steps wide...

The steepness of the terrain provides gorgeous views down the canyon, through trees bent downhill at the base from a childhood of annual glacial pressure, between rocky outcroppings blanketted at their base with steep scree slopes, to the Lake shining in the morning sun, and the purple mountains beyond.

A hummingbird (third sighting so far) just buzzed me, I guess I'm sitting inthe middle of his breakfast table.  Time to move on, around the base of a grey volcanic postpile, past the gurgling stream I hear ahead, and to other amazing sights presently unknown.

[9:30AM]

I'm going to have to slow down a little.  My GPS says I've come 3.4 miles from the trailhead, but it also reports an average speed of 2+ mph, which would mean I've come about 5 miles.  And sure enough, I just passed the fork with the Pacific Crest Trail, which coincides with the Tahoe Rim Trail for 50 miles, and here continues north thorugh the Granite Chiefs Wilderneww.  The map records this fork at 4.8 miles.  I guess my new GPS is just not measuring total distance accurately.

The Granite Chiefs Wilderness is fascinating to me.  I've stepped inside it only a couple of times, and entering it from here or from the top of Squaw Valley is an intriguing experience.  You top a ridge, pass the boundary sign, and step directly into a magical realm.  The flora diversifies, with new alpine wildflowers suddenly appearing.  Even the trees tend towards the fairly-land, bowed-tip hemlocks, and the ancient, gnarled, wizard-like bristlecones. The ridgetop drops away into a wide bowl surrounded by cliffs that resemble, well, granite chiefs.  This trail is definitely a repeater - perhaps continuing on through the wilderness instead of veering eastward around the rocky castles aptly named Twin Peaks, and descending into the forests and meadows below, as I have begun to do.

[3:30PM]

Two sections down - six to go.  This section was fairly easy, thanks to my caterers.  After my early morning drop off, Deanna and Laine went back to camp, enjoyed hanging out on the dock for a while, and then picked up a fine lunch to meet me with at Ward Creek, 11 miles into the section.  I arrived at a bit after noon and they were sitting in lounge chairs in the shade waiting for me.  How European this segment seems, between the sheer traverses reminiscent of the alps to chocolate milk served up cold half-way through!

After an ample hour cooling my feet in the stream and enjoying the repast, we arranged to meet again at 4PM at the Truckee River trailhead.  This final section was rather uninspiring, except for a beautiful stretch called Page Meadows.  Really a shallow lake nearly covered in reeeds, this opening in the forest has at its perimeter a host of silver snags - perfectly skeletal remains of trees who perhaps succumbed to excessive moisture.  These spires stand out against the green trees lined up behind them, and made a dramatic backdrop for the array of wildflowers edging the shore.  The trail is built up and skirts the edge of the meadow-swamp like a primitive boardwalk.

Despite some doctoring of emergent blisters, the last downhill segment was rather tough - more switchbacks but thankfully little loose rock to contend with.  I tried to go slow since downhills are the hardest on my feet, but nevertheless didn't feel much like stopping and finished this 5.1 mile stretch in 1:45.  With an hour to wait I strolled across the footbridge and up the road the final quarter-mile to the Tahoe-Brockway trailhead.  I touch the kiosk to claim completion of Barker to Brockway.  Strolling back to the river, I really feel how hot and hard the pavement is - time to get off my feet.

I floated in the Truckee River until some kids noticed a small yellow-striped water snake swimming nearby.  But he's moved on, and the sun is still hot - I think I will float peacefully until my guardians arrive.

[Mileage: 17 | 36.2]